


polytonality

by quassia



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crossdressing, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-15
Updated: 2018-02-16
Packaged: 2018-09-08 16:43:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 17,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8852509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quassia/pseuds/quassia
Summary: A collection of loosely interconnected sweet, spicy and sometimes bitter short stories starring the Yuris. The fourteenth:Watching Yuuri's leg fold under him, the startled and dismayed look on his face as he crashes to the ice, is one of the worst experiences of Yuri's life. Minor injury or not.





	1. allure

**Author's Note:**

> welcome to the den of sin
> 
> pls consider Yurio aged up to at least 18 for any of the explicit content in these fics
> 
> if you're sticking around, then hello and welcome to this lil collection! I like to compile all my one-offs or two-shots, etc, in one place, so please feel free to keep checking this for new chapter uploads

_“This time, skate like you’re trying to seduce_ me _!”_

It wasn’t Viktor who said those words, but a blond with a flinty stare, one hand fisted in the collar of Yuuri’s shirt. Viktor would’ve said those words in a sexier way, but Yuri’s demand was all anger, impatience, with an undercurrent of _something_.

Jealousy wasn’t a new look on Yuri.

He’d often click his tongue or grit a _tch_ out between his teeth when Viktor and Yuuri were too close together. When he wasn’t forcing himself between them, of course, roughly shouldering Viktor aside when he had to and shouting complaints at him, calling him a _damn old man_. He didn’t go easy on Yuuri, either. He had the tendency to jam his shoulder straight into his pectoral and not even have the decency to apologise for it, especially not when Yuuri winced and rubbed it. Yuri was more likely to turn up his nose at him if he expressed any pain.

Still, his jealousy had never extended to the skate routines, until now.

Or— maybe it had? He had demanded that of him like he knew full well that Yuuri used to skate and try to seduce _Viktor_ , before Yuri had unceremoniously steamrolled into his life and stole all his attention with a confession edged with knife blades.

Seducing Yuri, though…

Yuuri settled at the center of the ice, glancing to where Yuri was waiting at the side of the rink, his fingers poised by the speaker to start the music. His other hand was curled, his fingers drumming impatiently. His eyebrow ticked up, his mouth slanted in a displeased frown. He probably wasn’t convinced Yuuri could _do_ it, like he didn’t think Yuuri’s feelings were strong enough for him to…

Yuuri’s chest prickled at the thought.

It wasn’t the same competitive spirit he felt in the midst of a competition, but the fire and vague annoyance was similar: the drive to prove _something_.

To Yuri.

He wouldn’t have accepted his thorny confession if he didn’t feel the same but Yuri didn’t believe it. Was it his age that caused the doubt, or was it Yuuri’s wishy-washy personality? He hadn’t managed to say ‘I love you’ to him yet, rather he opted for an easier ‘me too’ whenever Yuri brusquely told him his feelings. Which wasn’t often either, mind you, but he said it—more than Yuuri could claim.

Yuuri exhaled and nodded his head once, shortly.

The signal.

The familiar music of Eros echoed all around them and Yuuri lifted his head in a slow toss, his gaze fixing right on Yuri—and he smiled easily, cocking his head.

Yuri’s hands twitched, just before he jammed them under his arms.

_Hm?_

Don’t tell him that Yuri was affected already? Just by that?

The thought raced through his head as he moved across the ice, as he fell back into the familiar routine that he hadn’t skated for weeks now, not since the Grand Prix had ended. His mind wandered toward the technical, but he shook his head at himself. Points didn’t matter, what mattered at this moment was moving in such a way to convince Yuri that he _could_ seduce him, if he wanted to. He wasn’t in this unwillingly, despite what Yuri might assume at times.

_I just have to show you that I want you. Right, Yuri?_

Murmuring the name in his head as if to keep it caged up and _his_ , not for Yuri to actually hear, Yuuri’s body flowed into the step sequence—but, spontaneously, he decided to change a few things. Placing his hands on his body, he dragged them down, glancing Yuri’s way. He wasn’t wearing his costume, just simple clothes for a relaxing afternoon of skating (what he hoped might be a fun little date but alas), but he could make it work, he could pull the fabric taut against his body, tease his fingers along his own hips, draw Yuri’s eye to certain places that he wanted him to look.

Yuri had hunkered up his shoulders, his face red and he _looked_ like he wanted to turn away—but he wasn’t. No, he defiantly watched Yuuri with parted pink lips and eyes swimming with…

_You want me too, don’t you?_

But it wasn’t enough yet. Yuri hadn’t seen enough. Yuuri trailed his hands up along his chest, stroking his fingers up along the base of his throat and _shivering_ , his head lolling to the side.

He thought he heard a low _oi_ , but ignored it.

This was what Yuri wanted. He should’ve realised what he was getting into.

_Don’t underestimate me,_ Yuuri chided him.

Yuuri had nothing to lose. Nothing except Yuri’s feelings for him—but this was what he had essentially ordered him to do. If Yuri hadn’t thought he could move, could twist his body in pantomime of what they would eventually do with each other, that was _his_ mistake. Yuuri, after all, had confidence in this. Yuri wanted him; otherwise he wouldn’t be looking at him now like he wanted to _eat_ him. Yuuri could move as he pleased to entice someone whose appetite was already high, who was starving for something he didn’t realise was already being offered to him.

_It’s a little embarrassing, though._

Yuuri smothered the thought. Instead, he traced a line up his chest with his fingers as he passed not far from Yuri, turning his head to _look_ at him. He let his lashes shadow his eyes, focused as best he could on maintaining eye contact while not skating into a wall or tripping over his own feet. That would ruin what he was going for.

Yuri’s lips were still open, but he had narrowed his eyes. As Yuuri passed that close, Yuri’s hand shifted out from under his arm, fingers twitching like he’d intended to reach for him, to stop him and pull him close. It made him remember warm evenings with just the two of them, bodies tucked under the kotatsu, that moment before Yuri rolled in close to him and buried his nose against Yuuri’s side. His hand, settling against Yuuri’s stomach, shyly skirting the edge of his shirt but close enough to send electric tingles up Yuuri’s spine.

_You can’t have any of me yet. You have to wait._

Breathing out and remembering his jumps and not heated kisses exchanged in front of Yuuri’s room before both of them had to head to sleep in their respective rooms, Yuuri turned his body. He wondered if Yuri noticed the way he stretched himself was different normal, wondering if he noticed every deliberate raise and lower of his arm was accompanied by a graze of his fingertips along his own body, to accentuate places he knew Yuri liked because he caught his glances, now and then.

He’d never skated like this for Viktor.

Then, suddenly—

Silence.

Yuuri blinked, thrown off, but he transitioned into a glide before stopping altogether, turning toward Yuri as his chest heaved.

He couldn’t make out Yuri’s face—after all, he’d slapped the music off and then buried his head in his arms where they were folded. Fighting a smile, Yuuri skated over to him, reaching out a hand to brush his forefinger gently against blond hair, stirring it and watching it twine, pretty against his skin. Yuri’s shoulders tensed and he didn’t lift his head.

“Shut up,” he said, before Yuuri had even opened his mouth.

His ears were completely red. How cute. Yuuri leaned over him, putting his cheek against the top of his head, resting his arm loosely around Yuri’s neck as he breathed in short pants. Every time he inhaled, he could feel his chest brush against Yuri’s head from the position that they were in.

“…I wasn’t done?” Yuuri murmured, after the silence had dragged on and it was obvious that Yuri was going to keep being _stubborn_.

“Shut up,” Yuri said again, but his head jerked up so fast Yuuri had to whip his own head back to avoid getting headbutted. Again, there was a hand in his collar yanking him down, but this time it was more pleasant, because Yuri’s lips pressed dry and hot against his. “You’re done. We’re going back.”

Yuuri didn’t see the need to remind him that his place was full of his family members, of other people who would stymy anything beyond _this_ , a long heated kiss he returned before he nodded.

With any luck, Yuri now knew full well that he was wanted.

If not, well, Yuuri could just skate like that for him again. Or maybe he would try something different next time.


	2. pet name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri tests out a pet name for Yuri.

When Yuuri leaned close to a slender back, bringing his mouth close to an ear to murmur “Любимый”, Yuri yelped, whipped around, and dealt him a stinging punch to the chest (luckily not to his face).

Wounded (emotionally more than physically), Yuuri jerked back while gripping the spot.

Yuri, realising what he’d just done, faltered with his fingers twitching before his face distorted, regret sharp in furrowed eyebrows and how he averted his gaze to one side. “Don’t,” he grunted, “surprise me like that. Stupid.”

If Yuuri wasn’t mistaken, there was red high on his cheekbones and an embarrassed as well as apologetic tone mingled in his voice. Did he not mangle the pronunciation, Yuuri wondered? He had asked Viktor (dodging interested question after eager question) about the Russian language, especially pet names, and this one seemed nice enough… Did he like it, though, or was he just embarrassed? He hadn’t shouted at Yuuri not to call him that, so maybe he liked it?

It was hard to tell.

“…Um,” Yuuri began after several minutes, after Yuri had composed himself enough to turn back to his phone. It left Yuuri sitting awkwardly, his hands planted on the insides of his knees as he watched Yuri’s body language for an opening. “Is that okay?”

“What?”

“…the pet name?”

Yuri’s phone jerked violently in his grip and he stared angrily down at the screen before looking over at Yuuri. He opened his mouth to say something—but shut it with click of his teeth and muttered something that Yuuri could barely make out.

It sounded like _do what you want_.

Ah. Permission, then.

Yuuri relaxed and shuffled close again, very aware that Yuri’s whole body was locked up, every muscle taut. They’d just gotten comfortable together too, gotten to a place where Yuuri thought it’d be nice to try out the pet name and hopefully get away with it. _I wonder if my attempt’s failed this time?_ Tilting his body, he settled his head on Yuri’s shoulder with a sigh. His eyes closed and he just let himself listen to the sounds of Yuri’s phone, the way he could feel the muscles in his arm twitching when he thumbed through something.

What was he doing, anyway…? During their long-awaited alone time he was just on his phone…

(Said Yuuri, who’d been busy scrolling through Phichit’s instagram earlier and eagerly showing Yuri the pictures.)

Yuuri was too drowsy and comfortable to be bothered by it, though, letting warmth and the softer sound of Yuri’s breathing lull him. Oh, he was going to fall asleep if he wasn’t careful. That’d be a waste. Absolutely… a waste…

“…Hey.”

Yuuri groggily opened his eyes.

“Your pronunciation was crap,” Yuri told him point-blank and reached his phone over so Yuuri could see the screen. He saw—Russian text. No, he couldn’t read this at all, you know? But when Yuri punched his thumb against the phone (all of his motions were abrupt and sharp, like he was attacking buttons more than pressing them), a robotic voice sounded out the pet name that Yuuri just said.

His mouth rounded into an ‘o’.

“Practice it more,” Yuri muttered, taking his phone away.

 “…Okay.” Yuuri turned his face to bury his nose in Yuri’s shoulder, fighting the rush of warmth to his face.

He was going to learn even more Russian, just for him, if he was going to be this happy about it. ‘Happy?’ some might say, but Yuuri could tell that Yuri’s attitude was softer and there was no need for Yuri to correct his pronunciation or order him to practice if he didn’t enjoy it at all.

Knowing that he did was all that mattered to Yuuri.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love... pet names... and character's learning each other's language
> 
> it means 'sweetheart' by the way P:


	3. audience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri attends each and every one of Yuri's competitions. Without telling him. And he even gets away with it... for a little while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS CHAPTER IS EXPLICIT but pls consider yurio aged up so that he is legal

Though somewhere in his chest it hurts Yuuri to attend skating performances, he doesn’t want to miss a single one when it comes to Yuri. It’s important that he be there, that he be standing at the sidelines even on those occasions where he doesn’t tell him he’s coming, just getting a text from Yakov (they’ve become texting buddies, oddly enough) that informs him of any of Yuri’s upcoming performances, scheduled weeks in advance so he has the optimum amount of time to plan.

No matter where or how short notice it is, he’s always there.

He doesn’t know if Yuri notices and, if he doesn’t, that’s fine too. He wants to be in the shadows watching him shine, wants to be warmed by the knowledge that Yuri has fans and everything, but only Yuuri’s been able to see his growth like this. He gets to watch people be pulled in by his skating, his new routines for the season, fire and passion that’re so very _Yuri_ that Yuuri’s heart aches.

When he skates, Yuuri wants to kiss him, he wants to join him on the ice and wrap his hands around his hips. But he doesn’t because _wow_ , that’d blow his cover so goddamn fast.

So instead he sends texts, speaks with him over video after the performances have been broadcasted so Yuri doesn’t realise he’s been spending his savings on trips to clandestinely watch him skate.

Today’s another such occasion.

It’s a relatively small competition, considering, within Russia itself. However, all of the finalists are nothing to scoff at. Yuuri makes his way at a brisk trot toward the rink, checking his phone the whole time, anxious about the time—his flight was delayed getting in due to snow, damn it, he wanted to be early so he could scope out his seat early so no-one would notice him.

Something catches his arm and Yuuri jerks backward, yelp smothered by something hot and warm.

Mouth. He’s being kissed. _Who_ —

Except blond sways in his vision, the body that’s shoved him up against the wall is shorter than him, trim and surprisingly strong. Yuri kisses him like there’s no tomorrow, his tongue wriggling its way forcefully past his lips, buckling Yuuri’s knees when he laves the inside of his mouth until Yuuri has to swallow.

Without noticing, both of his arms have encircled Yuri’s shoulders, his legs spread apart so that Yuri can fit his body right between them. Something hard presses into his thigh and his mind fizzles white, his sound not as _quiet_ as it should be, considering they’re in a _hall_ and anyone could come along. Anyone could come along, he wants to tell Yuri as Yuri tongue-fucks his mouth, manhandles one of Yuuri’s thighs up over his hip to grind against him.

“Stop, stop,” Yuuri’s voice sounds incoherent to himself. “Yurio, you’ve got to skate—”

“I’ve got twenty minutes,” Yuri replies with a devil’s grin.

 _Oh._ Yuuri’s voice dries up, crumbles away because that grin does terrible things to his dick.

“’Sides, Yakov told me you’ve been coming to every single competition I’ve been in,” Yuri continues in a casual voice, but there’s a sharp look in his eyes. “I’m gonna make up for some of those now.” He leans closer, breathes over Yuuri’s lips. “Or at least _one_ of them.”

 _What about the rest?_ Yuuri doesn’t dare to ask. As it is, he feels nervous and horribly turned on and they’re still in the middle of the _hall_.

Not for long, though, Yuri makes certain of that.

Now, let it be known that Yuuri’s experiences with toilets and Yuri have been damn bad. Their first impression was _awful_ and he never wants a repeat of it. Ever. He’s had quite enough with him being caught crying by Yuri Plisetsky. So when Yuri starts towing him into the bathroom, his first impulse is to say _nah_ and pull away, but Yuri’s grip is strong when he steers him right into a stall. He pauses, disappears from it for a moment.

(Is that the sound of the chair in the bathroom being wedged up against the bathroom door? It probably is.)

Before he knows it, Yuuri’s maneuvered up against the wall, chest facing it. Yuri urges him to brace both of his hands there as his fingers make quick work of his pants. Fifteen minutes. Haven’t five already gone by? Is he really intending on doing this _here_? What is he even planning on doing? Yuuri’s head is full of questions but Yuri’s mouth on the back of his neck keeps him quiet. Only the sound of Yuri’s zipper being drawn down behind him makes him suck in his breath.

“Yurio, I—”

“I’m not doing it all the way,” Yuri cuts him off quickly, embarrassment thickening his voice.

Instead he steps closer—oh, god.

Yuuri breathes raggedly, his muscles trembling as Yuri’s cock slides between his thighs, fitting up against his cock, hot and so, so hard. Yuri grips at his hips, then slides his hands down to the outside of his legs.

 _Press them together._ A wordless instruction.

Oh, so they’re doing _that_.

Yuuri obeys, closing his legs together, squeezing Yuri’s cock between them, his own aching even from the sense of anticipation, burgeoning friction. He hasn’t even started to move yet and yet Yuuri can feel slickness trailing down his legs, _knows_ that it’s from himself.

Then Yuri starts to move. Every rocking motion is quick (they don’t have much time, they don’t even _have_ any time), and the very tip of Yuri’s dick drags up and down the underside of his own. It caresses, rubs back and forth along his balls, deliciously overwhelming. His legs shake violently and his head bows, his glasses hanging off one of his ears as Yuri pants into the back of his neck. Hands stroke his body, creeping along his chest, down to the hem of his shirt and Yuuri hisses out a small _“cold”_ of protest as they press up the front.

Belatedly, Yuuri realises Yuri is saying something.

“…should have told me you were here every time. I would’ve been doing this before every competition,” he pants straight into Yuuri’s ear.

“You couldn’t—”

“I _could_. I could’ve skated better, too, after getting to touch you.” Yuri snarls out a sound by his ear that makes Yuuri’s cock drip. “From now on, you’re gonna call me when you’re planning on coming. _Every_ _time_.”

“Yuri—”

Yuri bites at his ear and the sharpness of it, the way his hips are humping against his ass, working his cock between his legs, is a paltry substitute for something they _both_ want. “Promise,” he mutters and his tongue laves the place where he’s bitten, soothing the stinging ache left by his teeth. Yuuri’s legs tremble harder and he clutches at the stall wall with both hands, nodding frantically because he’s not going to be able to speak when all he wants is to moan and demand for more right _now_. He seals his lips against it because Yuri’s about to be in a _competition_ , he’s about to go out there and win, and Yuuri’s not going to be the cause of him starting late.

Honestly… this is why he hadn’t told him to begin with.

Yuri scrubs his palm over the tip of Yuuri’s cock, dragging the point of his thumb deliberately along his glans. “Say it.”

“I promise I’ll—hah—tell you… from now on…!”

What else is Yuuri supposed to do except obey him? Because the moment he does, Yuri’s thumb presses _in_ and the pressure is just too much, the thought they’ve done this in the bathroom, Yuri’s about to take to the ice after they snuck off to do _this_.

He spends a moment blank, unaware, thinks that he screamed Yuri’s name or something else, and when he returns to himself, Yuri’s come is dripping thick down one of his thighs. Kisses are being pressed against the side of his throat and he slowly pushes himself off of the wall in front of him to put his weight against Yuri behind him—smaller he may be.

“You’re going to be staying in my hotel room tonight,” Yuri mutters, nuzzling up underneath his jaw. Yuuri laughs quietly, his voice hoarse, and lifts his hand up to ruffle against the side of blond hair.

“You’ll pay my fee for cancelling my room, right?”

“Tch. Guess I’m gonna have to.”


	4. monopolise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri and his feelings are the most precious thing that Yuuri could hope to have won. Beyond gold medals or standing on the podium. It's almost not even his fault that he gets jealous so easily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Episode 12 fucked me the fuck up (in a good way). That Yurio monologue, though. Thank you, YOI. It's all I ever wanted... aside from Yuris hugging.

_You’re my gold medal, Yuri._

Sometimes, Yuuri thought about saying that. Just to see how he’d react.

He wondered if his cheeks would flame up red, his mouth would gape open and he’d just not be able to _say_ anything. Whenever he imagined it or saying the countless other things that went through his head, he let his eyes lid, let his lips curve into a secret little smile and reach over to lace his fingers with Yuri’s, should he be close. If not, he’d just fall back and remember the sensation, the warmth of his skin.

Well, weren’t Yuri’s feelings for him the ultimate prize?

He knew firsthand how difficult it was for Yuri to come around to people, forge relationships with others. He saw the way he’d glare at people, how he’d snap and react even before he thought about the words coming out of his mouth, no matter who the other party was. Hell, Yuuri’d been on the side of the foot that kicked a toilet stall door, had been on the end of his aggression and thought that Yuri hated him more than anything else.

But nothing was predictable in life.

He never could have predicted or anticipated Yuri Plisetsky, certainly not how he felt. It hit him like a truck at the time, but it felt natural now.

Still.

He could’ve never have imagined it, nor could he have imagined this—

He sidled his way close to the edge of his bed, his room lit with orange evening sunlight. On the floor with his back propped against it was Yuri, and Yuuri flopped on his stomach just behind him and extended his arms. He slid them around narrow shoulders and Yuri jolted, though that was small in comparison to the reaction when Yuuri brought his mouth to his ear to speak into it: “Yurio? What’re you doing?”

“Nothing,” Yuri snarled, jerking his head to one side. Yuuri’d learned to recognise embarrassment, so he didn’t let go or back off… and Yuri wasn’t actually trying to break free anyway. He patiently gave him a minute, watching the blush dim, and Yuri looked at him (more like glared) and amended, grumbling: “I’m just talking to Otabek.”

“Hmmm…”

His interest had suddenly been sucked away… Even Yuuri’s smile had dimmed.

If you were to ask people who they thought was the jealous type, between Yuuri and Yuri, they’d say Yuri—they had no idea. Yuri got jealous over things he _should_ get jealous over, growling when Viktor and Yuuri were too close, when Viktor thought his reactions were hilarious and thought that he’d keep pushing it by pressing as _flush_ as possible against Yuuri, who’d naturally dissolve into splutters, wordless and unhelpful.

Yuuri, meanwhile…

He felt jealous just knowing Yuri was having a nice time texting with a friend.

It was ridiculous, and Yuuri knew that. He knew his reactions or feelings weren’t appropriate, that he couldn’t just control Yuri’s life and he didn’t want to, either—as much as he wanted to keep him to himself, he wanted Yuri to have the freedom to stretch, to grow into the potential that he held. He didn’t want to lock him away in a box.

Mostly.

He breathed out, imagining breathing out all of the negative emotions, the jealousy, and pushed himself further on his stomach until his forehead rested against the side of Yuri’s neck.

“What’s with you?” Yuri muttered, and Yuuri could feel the reverberations of his voice—so he kissed his throat. The slightest tinge of concern in Yuri’s voice was enough to warm him right through. “Hey—”

But for all that he convinced himself his jealousy was irrational, it remained. Even if it was only for a few moments, he wanted Yuri all to himself, wanted to drive other thoughts out of his head, thought that Yuri should understand just what he did to Yuuri—

How much he wanted him. He wondered if he ever really wanted a gold medal as much as he wanted Yuri. He wanted his feelings, his attention, he was precious and irreplaceable, and he’d never thought he would ever think this way when he was first confessed to.

“Yuri,” Yuuri whispered into his throat.

Yuri swallowed hard.

His silence was good enough for Yuuri, who splayed his fingers against his narrow chest and brought his mouth up to the skin under his ear. He kissed, slow and deliberate, working his way down the side of Yuri’s neck. As he held on to him, he could feel a faint tremor, could pick up on every shift Yuri made, the way he tried to not overtly loll his head and give Yuuri more access to his neck—but did, baring his throat.

There. Perfect.

Yuri had forgotten entirely about the cell phone, had forgotten about his conversation, had forgotten about anything (for the moment) besides this, and that was enough. Jealousy finally soothed away, Yuuri sunk his teeth softly against the skin at the base of his neck and _sucked_.

“Huh—wait, Yuuri,” Yuri’s voice sounded close to his ear, embarrassed as he realised what Yuuri’d been building up to.

“It’s okay, your clothes will cover it,” Yuuri murmured, tonguing at the mark left on his skin.

Yuri spluttered and then Yuuri’s world flipped.

Hands found his shoulders, gripped and _shoved_ to push him back against the bed (did he always have to be so forceful? _Honestly_ ). Yuuri gasped as a knee pinned his leg down by pressing into his thigh, as Yuuri straddled his midsection and both of his palms rested against his chest, flattening him against the bed. Yuri loomed over him, staring down at him with a flushed face and a scowl that didn’t suit the blissed-out look of his eyes.

“Your clothes won’t cover _this_ ,” Yuri muttered, to Yuuri’s feeling that something was about to go terribly wrong.

Sure enough.

Yuri tangled both of his hands in dark hair, steering Yuuri’s face back and he stared up at the ceiling with surprise as that hot mouth found his neck. It was right to the side of his neck, right where no clothing would cover unless he opted for turtlenecks, and Yuri teased the spot with his tongue and his teeth until Yuuri was clenching his jaw and _squirming_ , wondering if he was going to leave a mark or just keep _working at it_.

Excruciating. Hot. It pooled in the bit of his stomach and if Yuri wasn’t careful—

_Ah, though, I kind of started this._

“Don’t get excited just from this,” Yuri said into his neck, laughter in his voice. He sounded happy as he kept working teeth and tongue against Yuuri’s skin, until he gripped the back of Yuri’s neck and said _something_ —hang on, what did he say? Was it a plea to stop or plea to continue?

Either way, Yuri muttered “got it” and their lips crashed together.

 

* * *

 

“Eh… Yurio, why did you leave so many marks?!”

“Shut up, you did the same thing.”


	5. confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri confesses. Admittedly, it's not the one that he had planned out in his head. That's all Viktor's fault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should've probably started off this collection with a ficlet like this but that was bEFORE EPISODE 12 HAPPENED

Yuuri had no idea.

He had no idea how long Yuri had been watching him. He thought that his confession had been sudden—but it hadn’t, thanks. How long had he thought about it? How long had he wondered if he had been mistaken somewhere, if he just didn’t like Katsuki Yuri’s _skating_ and not the individual himself? How long had he almost convinced himself that was the case before he heard him crying in the bathroom, wondered what the hell he was doing there, someone with a step sequence that drew him in, entranced him—why was he being so _pathetic_ when he had so much potential? When he could’ve gotten _gold_?

_I want to see you skate perfectly._

Turned into:

 _Show_ me _your perfect skating._

Turned into:

_Only show me. Only be mine._

Yuri, fourteen at the time, had quite the crisis. One can imagine the meltdown he’d almost had seeing Yuuri stripping down, dead drunk, following the Grand Prix, and not only having a dance battle with him but having to see him _pole dance_ and then _rub his drunken self_ all over Viktor and ask him to be his coach. It was lucky that anyone had survived that night since Yuri had almost reached DEFCON 1.

Eventually, as Yuri did, he decided _well, what the fuck does it matter about our age or anything else?_ and resolved to himself that he _would_ have Katsuki Yuuri. Katsuki Yuuri would fall so hard for him that he wouldn’t know what to do with himself.

(As was Yuri’s case. Like hell he was suffering this alone.)

Then he discovered Viktor had gone off to Hasetsu to become Katsuki Yuuri’s coach and he’d had a minor (only minor, certainly not super major) panic doing his damndest to get to Hasetsu because Viktor had promised him a routine! But more than that, _fuck_ , what if he got to Yuuri first?! Yuri remembered how Yuuri had draped himself all over Viktor! Despite his best efforts, he hadn’t been able to erase it from his memory yet.

Shit!

So there he went, ignoring Yakov and his nagging or his angry phone calls when he arrived.

It wasn’t long after that. Not after seeing how Viktor acted around Yuuri, feeling his anxiety and possessiveness mount.

His confession was sharp, needled, but at the time it was because he was nervous as hell. Cornering Yuuri after one of their practices at Ice Castle Hasetsu had been nerve-wracking enough, never mind thinking about what he was going to do.

He had probably looked too defiant while confessing, glaring up at Yuuri, he probably hadn’t come off as serious in his feelings as he wanted to when he aggressively said:

“I like you! So— go out with me!”

All-in-all he’d worded it like a demand more than a question… He’d wanted to bash his head against something because that wasn’t what he had meant to do. He had honestly wanted to wait until the Grand Prix and until they faced each other on the rink again, but damn Viktor had thrown a wrench into all of his plans.

And Yuuri looked like someone had just kicked the door to the toilet stall he was crying in and he was forced to come out and face them. Yeah. It was that kind of dumb face that he’d had on, Yuri knew it well.

“You—eh? Wait, I… I think I misheard.”

That wasn’t promising.

Yuri clenched his jaw and he cast his mind back to what he’d looked up, what he’d researched before coming here. Rather, when he had decided that he was going to do everything to make certain that Yuuri became his.

Eventually (he had to psych himself up), mouth clumsy around the unfamiliar language: “Su—suki da. Tsukiatte… ku— dasai.”

Yuuri turned _bright red_.

That had been way more promising.

Except, he was still quiet and he hadn’t answered. Honestly, it was driving Yuri up the wall. Here he was, vibrating with tension, and Yuuri was standing there gaping. The longer time ticked on, the more anxious and therefore angry he felt, until he was balling both hands at his sides and grinding his back teeth together. He probably had a terrifying look on his face, considering how Yuuri took one look at him and balked.

“I like you,” he said for the third time, in English again, tightly but this time the desperation leaked into his tone.

_Just answer me already. If you reject me, at least I’ll be ready, dammit._

Not that it would be easy. But Yuri Plisetsky was trying to be prepared for rejection because he thought he would be able to handle it, that it wouldn’t be that hard. (But how did he know, really, when this was his first love, his first confession, anything?)

Even if he was rejected, he was telling himself, it wouldn’t make him give up on Yuuri. He had thought about this this long, there was no way he would back down.

Yuri wasn't a quitter, that was for damn sure.

Yuuri blinked quickly and then he sunk back, leaning against the wall. He rested his palms behind him, his fingers curled. “I’m…” He trailed off without giving an answer, yet again, his face still stained red. He looked at Yuri cautiously, and Yuri felt like he was being examined, searched, and straightened his back, widening his stance and feeling like he was about to charge headlong into a fight.

Did he not think Yuri was serious? He’d prove it to him, if he had to. He’d—he’d push him right against the wall that he was already leaning against (negating the need for a push) and kiss the life out of him! Yeah! That’s what he’d do!

He had started going red just thinking about it ( _a k-kiss_ ), getting himself ready for action, when Yuuri spoke again: “Can you, um… let me think about it for a bit?”

“Ha?”

Yuuri ducked his head. “Please.”

“…guess it can’t be helped. Fine. But you better give me your answer after I beat you.”

Yuuri slowly smiled at him—it was odd, tentative, and Yuri could figure what was actually in it, but it was a smile. Yuuri hadn’t been completely scared off. He hadn’t been spooked away by Yuri’s attitude thus far, so looks like he was tougher than anticipated.

_He was going to think about it._

Wasn’t that good? Yuri thought so.

_It wasn’t a rejection._

Later that day, some of the residents of Hasetsu saw Yuri Plisetsky going for his regular run around town—the only thing different about it was when he jumped, thrusting his fist into the air. Some even swore they heard him shout a _yes_.

Of course, Yuri Plisetsky would do no such thing _what are you talking about, katsudon, who even told you that kind of shit?!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the japanese Yurio uses is literally I like you, go out with me please. (好きだ．付き合ってください．)


	6. sleeping over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri Plisetsky hates when his plans with Yuuri go awry. He hates it so much he redirects his annoyance at others by ignoring Yuuri. Which doesn't often end well for him—but this time it ends better than expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY HOLIDAYS, i've been having a good one all around
> 
> so here's my gift to you lovely folks, a lil late for xmas but hey! most of this chapter is smut (that's probably why it's so long)... so please take heed, but i hope you enjoy

Yuri Plisetsky was pissed.

All of this way to visit Katsuki Yuuri, and he found out that not only was Viktor staying here—having beat him here for some bullshit reason like a vacation but Yuri didn’t trust he wasn’t trying to steal Yuuri away—but a few other skaters who Yuuri was friends with. He’d been steamed all evening, and not even Yuuri’s soft voice or touches or attempts to engage him in conversation had been successful.

Damn it, he knew he was _sulking_ , but fuck! He’d been looking forward to it! Yuuri had too, or at least he’d said as much in their texts.

Yuuri said that the visits all around had been a complete surprise, where they had to scrounge up whatever rooms they could for Phichit and Minami, never mind Viktor. Yuuri said that Yuri could stay in his room with him which just worsened his mood—even if he was there, he couldn’t _do_ anything, Yuuri would fight him on it for sure when there were so many people around who could hear. Yuri hated being quiet but he hated Yuuri being quiet when they were intimate even more.

But he’d agreed in an angry bark because like hell he was going to stay anywhere else! The spot in Yuuri’s room belonged to _him_!

He knew he’d been making Yuuri fret all evening over something that wasn’t even his fault, but… you know. He’d apologise for it later, after he’d cooled off. However, sometime after dinner, Yuuri slipped out of his sight. He didn’t want to ask anyone where he was, but he snuck looks around and thought he must have gone back to his room for some reason. But for such a long time? Tch. He better not have been going to get a nap, leaving an irate Yuri alone.

That’s why, stalking down to the hot spring to try to sneak in a bath by himself, he was surprised when Yuuri caught him by the elbow from behind.

“Yurio,” he started, expression troubled, before loosening in a smile, “want to go in together?”

Yuri worked his jaw. His stubbornness wanted to hold on to his grouchy mood, but his affection made him want to give in. In the end, he muttered a, “Do what you want,” because he wasn’t straightforward enough to say _yes, I want you to come in the bath with me and I want you to have alone time with_ me _and not Viktor or whoever else_. It wasn’t even Yuuri who he was mad at, though he made it seem like it was.

Still, those words were enough for Yuuri who knew the meaning (or could glean it) and he nodded gladly and followed Yuri inside. Yuri’s mind was working a mile a minute, as he stripped out of his clothes, wondering where Yuuri’d been all this time, wondering why he caught up with him now, worried about if he had something to talk about him with. Ugh, no, he was just going to forget it all and have a bath and that was it!

“Sit,” Yuuri instructed him after they’d both entered the steamy room, and Yuri, baffled, looked back at him.

“What?”

“Sit,” Yuuri said again and nodded to a stool. It was empty, this time of night blissfully bereft of visitors or fellow bathers, and a glance out the door at the hot spring said that it was empty as well. He and Yuuri had the whole place to themselves. “I’ll wash your back for you. Okay?”

Yuri’s face flushed. To keep Yuuri from seeing it, he jerked away sharply and then sat down hard on the stool, propping his ankle up on the knee of his opposite leg. “Fine. I guess I’ll even return the favour for you, after you’re done.”

This was doing wonders for his mood, he realised grudgingly. All he had to do was allow Yuuri to comfort or be close to him and his bad mood would be washed away. That’s why he’d been avoiding talking to him too much, because he _knew_ once he did, he’d have to let the anger go because otherwise it would be like trying to hold water in his hands.

After all, right now he wasn’t annoyed anymore. Instead, his stomach was tight with anticipation as he listened to another stool scrape over wet tile, the creak of Yuuri settling behind him, Yuuri’s exhale ruffling the hair at the back of his head.

Then, warmth.

The soapy cloth worked in circles starting at his shoulders, sending rivulets of bubbly water trickling down his arms and chest. He tensed at first, but sighed when Yuuri squeezed his shoulder comfortingly, allowing his head to hang forward until his chin hovered just above his collarbone. The cloth was soft and pleasant and it was like he was finally washing away the grime from the day and the plane trip, where he hadn’t bothered with a shower before he left for the airport.

Yuuri’s hand lingered on his shoulder, fingertips absently chasing the path of a stray water drop, and the other drifted the washcloth down. Yuri tried not to react to it rubbing along his sides, even though the corners of his mouth tightened against a ticklish laugh. It swept the backs of his hips, rubbed skin just above where his towel covered. It was comfortable, almost sweet.

And then Yuuri’s chin hooked over his shoulder, a sharp scrape breaking the quiet when Yuuri pulled his stool closer and he slid both of his hands underneath Yuri’s arms to his chest.

“Hey!” he spluttered, his head snapping up so he could turn it, glaring at Yuuri accusingly with one eye. Yuuri smiled sidelong at him and kissed his soapy skin, rubbing his nose into the side of Yuri’s neck. “You said my back!”

“Just consider this an extra service,” Yuuri replied, his tone light. What the hell had gotten into him? Yuri’d tried to initiate fooling around in the bath before, and Yuuri had staunchly refused _that_.

 _I’m going to have to clean up, and what if someone walks in halfway through?_ was what his argument had been.

It was only now that Yuri actually understood the embarrassment at the prospect of being caught as the cloth rubbed over his nipples. This was the _furthest thing_ from whatever washing he was imagining it was.

“Thought you were worried about people coming in?” Yuri snapped, trying not to squirm— _trying_ , but it was hard when Yuuri’s hand had gravitated to one side of his chest. His fingertips were tracing circles around one of his nipples, pebbled against Yuri’s will. Yuuri was spending _way_ too much washing the other side of his chest, and the repeated drag and catch of the fabric did funny things to him, not even to mention his cock.

“Ah, well, I locked the door.”

Yuri froze, swearing he misheard. Because just now, it sounded like—

Yuuri peeked over at him. “…I locked it,” he repeated in a quiet voice. “No-one can get in.”

Yeah, that sure as hell sounded like something Yuuri wasn’t allowed to do. That’d explain why he looked like he’d just been forced to spill deep and dark details of his sordid past. But, hang on, if he’d locked it, then was he thinking about this when he caught Yuri in the hall? Had he been planning to—

“Ah,” caught up in analysing the situation, trying to make his brain comprehend Yuuri’s surprising actions, he didn’t notice the cloth slip away, just for Yuuri’s soap-covered fingers to squeeze at the nipple he hadn’t already been teasing. “Ngh.”

“You know,” Yuuri muttered in his ear, “I was disappointed too. I was really surprised when everyone showed up. I thought I’d get to spend some time alone with you.” His fingers pinched and twisted and Yuri arched, gasping and shoving his shoulders back against Yuuri’s chest, his feet sliding on the slick floor underneath, seeking purchase. God, that felt good, better than it should, and he felt hot and overwhelmed before something about what Yuuri was saying, his actions, made him think of something.

“Oi, are you ma—”

“Not at Yurio,” he cut him off, mildly. “I was frustrated earlier, but I’m feeling better now.” Yuri whined through his teeth as Yuuri’s fingers slid down his chest to his stomach, index finger dipping into his navel. “But you didn’t have to ignore me all evening.”

“I wasn’t—” Well. He _had_ been. He shuddered as Yuuri’s fingers played against the towel where it was knotted around his hips, tugging at the fabric and it was going to slide off _so easily_. If he just _pulled_ it off, already, and when had he started urging Yuuri on in his mind to do just that?

“You were. But you’re not going to anymore, right?”

Yuuri’s fingers teased at the fabric of the towel… and moved away. This bastard, Yuri thought, but he panted when both of his hands slid right back up to Yuri’s chest. His nipples were going to be aching by the time the night was through, he thought as Yuuri trapped them between his index fingers and thumbs. He _played_ with them, rubbing the pads of his fingers back and forth, twisting softly before crushing them against Yuri by flattening his thumbs over them. As Yuri panted, aggravated by how difficult it was to _talk_ , Yuuri licked the edge of his ear.

“Yuri?” he prompted.

Embarrassed and too turned on and _wanting_ , Yuri growled and snapped both hands up to Yuuri’s wrists, wrapping his fingers around them. “I won’t anymore. Shit. I was going to apologise, you—”

Yuuri moved one of his hands up from his chest, grabbed underneath his chin, and urged him to face sideways so they could kiss. It was an awkward angle, but Yuuri shoved his tongue into his mouth, already open, prepared to call him _katsudon_ or _idiot_ or _something_ but Yuri forgot all about it as he chased Yuuri’s tongue. He licked it with his own, twitched when it slipped under his tongue and explored, as if Yuuri was trying to get into every part of his mouth. Strangely enough, he tasted like toothpaste, not like dinner, so then had he brushed his teeth when he’d disappeared—

When Yuuri pulled back from their kiss, Yuri gasped in disappointment, staring at the thin line of saliva connecting their lips, severed when Yuuri stood up. He walked around in front of Yuri and slowly knelt down, his fingers peeling open his towel.

“Fuck,” he hissed as Yuuri gripped hard at his upper thighs and slid his mouth over the tip of his cock. It was already hard and he was _sure_ he couldn’t get any harder, but he felt like Yuuri was trying to prove that wrong with how he teased the head, tasted him with flicks along the slit and then _pressed_ with the tip of his tongue there hard enough that Yuri’s leg spasmed.

Belatedly, he realised Yuuri’s towel was gone and, even from this angle, he could look down and see his dick, flush against his stomach. But all of Yuuri’s attention was on Yuri rather than himself, pulling back just to lave his tongue up from the base of his cock to the tip, and then back down. He _whimpered_ his name when Yuuri pressed his mouth to his balls, mouthing at them, widening his lips so that he could fit his lips around them and tease them with the faintest suction.

By far—by _far_ the most intense blowjob he’d ever gotten, and he was so close, already there—

“Hold on, Yuri.”

“…ha?” 

Hold on? Yuri’s eyes blinked open and he looked down through swimming vision at Yuuri’s face. His mouth was still poised, just a breath away from the tip of his cock, dripping precome that glistened slick on his already-wet skin. “What… why?”

He hated how composed Yuuri could be sometimes. He was as much of a virgin as Yuri when this all started, so why did he look so composed when his cock seemed so hard it _hurt_?

Then, to his surprise, Yuuri began to flush. He looked away, one of his hands slicking his hair back out of his face and _fuck_ , Yuuri had no idea (because it was a secret he’d rather die than tell) but Yuri loved when he did that. He stared as if to eat into him, his cock twitching. Yuuri, oblivious, chewed on his lower lip before he slowly stood up, turning his back to Yuri and placing his hands against the wall. One of his hands.

The other reached behind him, settling against his own ass as he parted the cheeks with his fingers so Yuri could see his twitching hole.

… _Oh._

He almost came, just from that, the wordless plea, the show of what Yuuri wanted him to do, but he gripped hard at the base of his cock and took several deep, sucking breaths. He was sure his legs were going to give out on him if he tried to do this standing but, damn it, he was Yuri Plisetsky and he wasn’t giving up so easily. So he defiantly pushed himself to his feet as he frantically scanned around them. “Do you have—we need something—”

“It’s fine,” Yuuri said in a small voice.

“It’s not fine,” Yuri grumbled. He wasn’t in the habit of leaving Yuuri hurting, even if they got rough at times.

“No, I mean…”

Yuri frowned at Yuuri’s back, saw that one of his ears were getting redder.

“…I’m already ready.” As if words weren’t enough, Yuuri slid one of his fingers inward—and his hole swallowed up one of his fingers _far too easily_ , leaving Yuri flabbergasted and stunned and tightening his grip on the base of his dick _again_ because was Yuuri trying to murder him? He was, wasn’t he?

“How.”

Yuuri groaned, but it wasn’t a pleased noise—he was embarrassed, his forehead thunking forward against the wall. “I did it… up in my room, before I came down to find you.”

Oh, god.

Yuri slammed his palm against the wall to one side of Yuuri’s body, using his other to slap his hand out of the way. His mind was racing again as he put it together. So Yuuri had snuck off after dinner to go up to his room to get himself _ready_ , he was _fingering_ himself up there while they were downstairs, with the plan of letting Yuri do this, he thought frantically as he aligned his cock against Yuuri’s hole, flattening his other hand against the middle of his back. While he had guests he needed to look after, all he was thinking about was fucking him in the bath? Was that it?

“Yuri,” Yuuri gasped faintly, and then he cried out as Yuri _pushed_ —just like he said, he did it. He must have used three fingers, maybe four, because he slid in _so easily_ and he thought he could still feel lube, he must have _just done it_ and _fuck_ —

Yuri leaned in and bit down on his shoulder, so turned on he was fucking furious, so helpless to it that he came, his hips rutting desperately, and it’d been a long as hell time since he came as soon as he was inside. Not since the first time they did this, but damned if he wasn’t supposed to after Yuuri got him so close with his mouth and just told him all this and expected him to hold back.

But he didn’t stop, moving his hips in defiance of the warmth that stole over him, in defiance of Yuuri’s choked gasp of surprise.

“You didn’t do it ‘cause you were mad, did you?” Yuri panted, pulling his mouth away from the ugly teeth marks he’d left, evidence that he’d been there, a reminder for Yuuri for later that he’d done this. Yuuri’s body shook and then he laughed, thin and breathless, but not long, as a sharp jerk of Yuri’s hips made him clutch at the wall and moan instead.

“No… I wanted to end this night—ah—better than it began…” Yuri opened his mouth to question this, but Yuuri continued, bucking his hips back against Yuri’s, “and I wanted you. I’ve missed you.”

Yuri wasn’t prone to honesty, but Yuuri deserved it after tonight, after the stress of dealing with Yuri but also with carrying out this little plan of his. Gritting his teeth, he slid his hand down Yuuri’s back, lingering a moment with his fingers petting around where his cock stretched Yuuri’s hole, and then he hooked his arm around his hip, seeking out between his legs so he could fist Yuuri’s cock in his hand. A pull from base to tip and Yuuri _shook_ , ass moving back against Yuri, grinding against his hips.

“I missed you, too, Yuuri,” Yuri finally muttered and moved his hand on the wall to where Yuuri had put one of his. He slid his fingers through his, palm pressing over the back of his hand, and Yuuri sucked in a sharp breath of surprise, but a glance at what he could see of his face from this angle told him Yuuri was smiling.

Then it was just his moans—because Yuri moved hard against him, fucking him, aware he was shoving him up against the wall with every single thrust of his hips, but Yuuri didn’t complain.

His voice echoed all around them and Yuri almost hoped someone might hear outside, know that Yuuri was in here, that he was _Yuri’s_ , _only_ Yuri’s and he’d been an idiot all night but he wasn’t going to be anymore. He knew how to touch him, knew where to rub his thumb against his dick to make Yuuri twitch and gasp his name.

And Yuuri knew how to drive him crazy in turn, had been doing it all night. But the way he arched his back, how he _tightened_ his muscles around Yuri’s dick made him see stars. His fingers caught harder at Yuri’s and he pulled his hand to his mouth, licking at the tips of his fingers, kissing them sweetly before wrapping his lips around them to suck them into his mouth with a wet groan.

Yuri’d never liked when Yuuri kept himself quiet, but he had to say that he liked it more than he thought when Yuuri’s voice was stifled by his fingers. He could get used to keeping him quiet like this, working his fingers in and out of his mouth, trying to time it with how he moved his hips so he could feel the pressure of Yuuri’s teeth.

It was when he almost pushed Yuuri’s hips flat up against the wall with a thrust that Yuuri actually bit, a sharp twinge of pain that went right to Yuri’s cock. He hissed in Yuuri’s ear and bit right back, working his teeth just under his ear.

When he came, Yuri milked him through it, working his hand over him, knowing they were making a mess in here and they’d have to clean it up after all this, but it didn’t matter now. What mattered now was that they finally had each other all to themselves and they would for the rest of the night—and tomorrow Yuri would drag Yuuri out somewhere where they could do this in a _bed_ , where he’d get to watch him arch and squirm on a bed, though it wasn’t bad seeing his shoulders clench together, his mouth hanging open as he gasped and panted, Yuri’s wet fingers resting under his chin.

Yuri waited, though, waited until he’d realised Yuri was still hard and moving in shallow thrusts inside him, until Yuuri glanced back at him. Then he groaned as Yuuri squeezed around him again and it was _perfect_ , coming because Yuuri wanted him to, made him come on his own, his face pressing between Yuuri’s shoulders as he rocked against his ass a few more times, until he’d softened enough to slip out.

“…Bet someone heard us,” Yuri muttered into his skin when he’d recovered his wits enough, encircling Yuuri’s waist with both arms.

Yuuri just covered one of Yuri’s hands with his own and said nothing, squeezing his hand.

Yuri nuzzled aggressively into Yuuri’s back and kissed his skin again and again, because the gesture said, more than anything else: _I don’t care if they did._


	7. delusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sound of the crowds dim, there's no-one in the rink besides himself and Yuuri. For a tenuous moment Yuri allows himself to imagine that such a space is real, that its only occupants can be the two of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is short and bittersweet....... i'm sorry, we'll be back to happy relationship times starring yuris by next chapter
> 
> (btw thank you all for the lovely comments and kudos and views, they warm my brittle old heart)

_Look at me, Katsuki Yuuri_.

For this moment, this space in time, Yuri Plisetsky and only he would arrest all of his attention. There was no Viktor Nikiforov, there was no audience, there were only two Yuris sharing the cool air. Only two people who heard the sound of skates on ice, the sounds of the violin, just the two of them with parted lips and ragged breath.

Was this moment going to be temporary?

Like hell. Yuri would slash a mark in him such that he wouldn’t be able to forget: a ragged scar, his letters engraved in his skin.

Even if he retired, even if Yuri’s skating didn’t move his heart enough, he would be damned if Yuuri _forgot him_.

Why did he have to be the only one to suffer? Why should he have to be the only one who’d think of entrancing step sequences, who would remember watching the skating, seeing the momentum carry black hair, their breaths in tandem if he just _imagined_ hard enough.

Should he continue on with the threat of never seeing that again looming before him?

If he imagined hard enough now, Yuuri was _his_.

He wanted to forget the glances exchanged between Yuuri and Viktor, like they shared too many secrets and memories that Yuri wasn’t privy to. He hated it. He resented it. He wondered _why the hell should it just be you two_ and drove his skates into the ice. He thought he might shatter all of the ice around him, if he just fought hard enough, if he awoke all of his feelings, frustration, anger, everything _bad_ and dug it deep deep down into the core of the rink.

Yuri wanted to leave a mark.

He wondered if Yuuri realised his outstretched arms during his jumps, the way he pushed and pushed his body was for him. Yuuri was an idiot, though. He probably couldn’t connect the dots, realise the reason why Yuri’s body ached from the chest out was because of _him_. The reason his throat tightened, choked his breath, the reason that the backs of his eyes burned was because of _him_.

Things may have been better for Yuri had he never see Katsuki Yuuri’s skating.

They would have been easier.

At the end of the day, though, Yuri thought that it made him stronger than before. How could he have skated like this without a goal, a rival, someone who he wanted to _push down_ but grip and shake and tell him _he could skate perfectly_ if he weren’t so busy being hard on himself!

Well, why couldn’t he skate perfectly for _Yuri_? Was it because there was Viktor? Could he only show his perfect skating to Viktor?

_Aah, well, of course—_

The world rushed back in. The crowds reappeared, the other skaters reappeared, the world with Viktor again broke the surface of the ice he sought to bury it under. Yuri skated as though to defy it but that skating wasn’t strong enough.

But he’d had it.

For a second, he’d folded his fingers around a sphere with only him and Yuuri in it.

And he wasn’t the type to give up. No matter what, he’d grasp it in his hands again.


	8. adult

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri has hands as big as Yuuri’s, a broader back, hair longer than Yuuri remembers, his voice a low murmur in his ear—hm? Wait, is that even right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> might as well throw up a cute chapter right away after that last one... enjoy!

The hands that touch him are bigger than what Yuuri is used to, but long-fingered. Hands he might say belonged to a pianist if he didn’t know better. They coast up his stomach, thumbs following the lines of muscle like they know every _bit_ of him and that’s not right, no-one with these kinds of hands should know that.

Blond hair catches in his vision and he thinks _oh_.

It’s longer than he remembers; long and spilling over one shoulder with the way the man leans over Yuuri. It’s not like Viktor’s—and he can imagine the reaction if he dared compare the two of them. Pale eyelashes conceal his sharp, beautiful eyes. They swallow him up and he’s always had trouble looking away from them, ever since the very beginning.

Whether that be when they’re narrowed at him in a glare or in that moment where they light up, when _his_ face transforms into a smile.

This Yuri Plisetsky isn’t the one Yuuri knows, though.

Yuri doesn’t have a back like this, broader but not overly large, a trim figure, a waist that Yuuri would bet he’d resent being called _slender_. This Yuri can maneuver him easier, rather than huffing at him when he’s not in the right spot, this Yuri he doesn’t worry squishing when he settles into his lap, straddling hips that press sharp into the insides of his thighs.

As he runs his fingers through hair, it changes—would it be short, he wonders, shaved close to the back of his neck, enough that he could scrape his nails through and make Yuri tilt his head back and arch his neck for more?

Either way, he would look beautiful. He is beautiful.

The mouth that presses to his isn’t smaller than his anymore, lips no longer clumsy in execution, prone to fumbling or breaking kisses accidentally when Yuuri touched a particular place on his body.

No, the kiss is full of confidence and heat, like Yuri’s truly come into his own, like he possesses twice, triple the confidence than Yuuri’s ever had. He doesn’t mind, though, how could he mind when Yuri turned that confidence on him, lets it come through in his touches, the way his fingers trace along Yuuri’s hips, the way his lips turn up in a familiar smirk. When he grips at the back of his neck and spreads his fingers to _hang on_ , Yuri chuckles.

It’s not fair for his voice to get deeper, either. Even though he knows it was bound to happen—

“Yuuri,” his name is murmured right to his ear and Yuuri’s head spins.

And spins and spins…

It’s spinning a bit too much, isn’t it…?

 

* * *

 

“…oi. Katsudon. You’re talking in your sleep,” a voice grumbles over him when the world stops spinning and focuses slowly.

_Back to reality._

His hands are around something, gripping—he feels soft hair and he opens up his eyes slowly, realising that somewhere during the night he’s wrapped Yuri up in his arms. His hand rests curled up to the back of his head, fingers loosely tangled in his hair. The other is wedged underneath his body and is… yeah, it’s asleep. He flexes his fingers and grimaces as it prickles sharply with pins and needles.

“Sorry,” Yuuri murmurs as he wiggles his arm free and settles it beneath the pillow under Yuri’s head.

Yuri looks like he just woke up. Because of Yuuri’s sleep talking, he realises guiltily. Yuri’s eyes are still half-closed, and _then_ he snuggles close in such a sweet way that it makes Yuuri’s chest ache. Sleepy snuggles are one of the best things about sharing a bed with Yuri, though dreaming about him and then him getting closer makes Yuuri worry… no, he’ll be fine. He’s in control of himself and his hormones!

He closes his eyes determinedly, urging his warm body to _chill out_. Breathing in the scent of Yuri’s shampoo, he’s almost falling asleep again when he hears Yuri grunt against his neck.

“What were you dreaming about, anyway?” he mumbles. “You have a nightmare?”

_Not even close._

Yuuri opens his eyes, staring off over his head at the wall. He tugs him closer, spreading his fingers against his back between his shoulders. “Not really,” he mutters, trying to avoid it, and Yuuri feels Yuri moving his face—he’s probably being stared at suspiciously. Yeah, he wouldn’t believe himself either with that feeble attempt at dodging. “Hey, Yurio?”

“What?”

“Do you think you’ll get taller than me?” Yuuri asks.

 “…are you trying to pick a fight?” Yuri’s voice flattens, his eyes narrowing as if he’s trying to discern the reason for this topic. Yuuri splutters and shakes his head back and forth.

“No, that’s not it…! I was just wondering.”

Yuri glares some more and then defiantly _buries his face in Yuri’s neck_. And he _bites_ , the punk, sinking his teeth against soft skin in a way that reminds Yuuri in a flash of his dream and he’s shifting his hips, trying to put distance between his and Yuri’s. “I’m going to get taller than you,” he growls. “There’s no ‘ _do I think’_ about it.”

_You don’t have to take it as a challenge._

“I was just—ngh, stop,” Yuuri mutters as Yuri distracts him with another (quite sharp) nibble. Yuuri bets he’s left another mark on his throat. “I had a dream about you. But you were older.”

Yuri’s head lifts in surprise, his eyes opening wide. “Yeah?”

Yuuri nods, fighting a blush—but Yuri’s interest visibly dwindles and soon he’s scowling instead. “What? What’s wrong?” Did he say something wrong after all? He only said that he was dreaming about Yuri, wouldn’t he be happy about it?

If he was dreaming about Viktor, maybe that expression would make sense, but…

Yuri plants his chin on Yuuri’s collarbone, staring right up at his face. His lips almost move against Yuuri’s chin as he speaks, and his breath ghosts (ticklish) underneath Yuuri’s jaw. “I’m right here, so why are you dreaming about a different me?”

“Yuri…” Yuuri’s mouth twitches and he gets to watch a blush bloom on Yuri’s face but, as if determined to stick to his guns despite embarrassment, Yuri holds his eyes. “You’re right, of course.” It’s the silliest thing, but he agrees with it anyway because he’s just _swamped_ with affection and he plants a kiss firmly against Yuri’s temple.

“Kiss me _properly_ if you’re gonna do it,” Yuri grumbles.

“I’m not treating you like a kid,” Yuuri replies mildly, but obeys him and pecks a kiss to his lips. Then another, and another, until Yuuri realises he’s never going to get back to sleep at this rate.

But that’s probably Yuri’s plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't know why i switch tenses from past to present sometimes either
> 
> there's also a lot of hot older!yurio art out there, guys... I don't know my fav version and neither does yuuri


	9. bind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Occasionally, Yuuri’s switch gets flipped. Yuri would like it to be known that he was the first one to bring up anything to do with bondage, and that it shouldn’t have been him tied up first between them. So Yuuri damn well owes him for the next time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy 2017, everyone. i'm starting off my new year the same way i ended 2016... by writing smut. ie this chapter is EXPLICIT and there's some light bondage because i love bondage oh boy
> 
> also you bet i write them switching positions P:

Sometimes, there was a _shift_ in Yuuri.

Yuri was often the one to initiate contact that went beyond solely simple and affectionate. He’d be the one planting his hand on Yuuri’s thigh and trying to seem composed when he slid it up, trying to emulate things he’d seen before or things he’d read about when they first got into a relationship with each other. He was the one testing out different touches, seeing which ones would get Yuuri’s eyes to go molten or for the air to change between them.

He was also the one who’d invite himself into Yuuri’s bed or his lap, wrapping himself around him and refusing to yield any ground until Yuuri kissed him and touched him and they were curled up naked together with skin cooling in an overheated room.

But, Yuuri would do it too—usually when Yuri didn’t expect it.

Yuuri was just too damn unpredictable.

Like _now_.

On his back, Yuri twisted and grunted with sheets tangled underneath him as Yuuri’s hand worked his cock. Both of his hands were tied together over his head with the silk fabric of Yuuri’s tie. He was still mostly dressed, something Yuri resented. But the way his collar gaped open at his throat and the way his shirt was hiked up just enough from their earlier grinding together that it bared his lower stomach, teased a glimpse of his hips, made Yuri’s mouth go dry.

Yuuri was murmuring to him—what he was saying, Yuri didn’t know. It was Japanese, and thus far his vocabulary was limited and Yuuri _knew_ that. But he thought he heard ‘cute’, again and again but he couldn’t voice a protest. Not when he was trussed up and panting, bucking his hips as Yuuri played his body easily, brought him so close to the edge, let him cool down, and then brought him up all over again. That bastard wouldn’t let him _come_.

They’d been at the New Year’s party and what had happened? What had flipped his switch, exactly?

There was always _something_ when it came to Yuuri.

He wasn’t drunk, at the very least, though slightly buzzed when he had come over to drag Yuri away from Otabek and the other skaters who he’d been talking with. He’d been quiet all the way up to their hotel room, even when Yuri prodded and demanded and finally realised Yuuri was just in an _odd_ mood and that he wasn’t going to get a good answer anytime soon.

That odd mood culminated in tying him up.

—Yuri didn’t actually mind it at all, not that he’d ever say it.

Yuuri didn’t often take the lead in things like this and he’d never let Yuri tie him up. Yuri had asked him once or twice, though, and Yuuri had floundered, uncertainty swimming in his eyes, and said they’d try it at a later date.

Tch.

So, what, he wanted to be the one doing the tying up all along?

Gasping, Yuri’s back arched, his thoughts scattering.

Yuuri had bowed over, tasting the tip of his cock with long strokes of his tongue. He’d been at this for way too long already, how much time had passed while Yuuri had deliberately teased him? He whimpered in frustration, biting his lower lip as Yuuri slid the very tip of his tongue into the slit and back out, leaving his legs shaking and his mouth gaping around his ragged breath. Could he get him to do that again? he wondered hazily. Could he beg him, would that work?

Yuri looked down, found Yuuri watching him, and fought past that embarrassing, lust-fueled thought. He wasn’t going to beg.

“Stop…teasing me, already,” he bit out, but his voice wobbled. He was desperate. It _ached_.

Yuuri’s eyes widened slightly, his attention flitting up to Yuri’s bound wrists where they lay on the bed above his head, then down to his flushed cock. It was like he’d had a moment of clarity but, in a moment, he smiled and wrapped his hand around the base of Yuri’s dick, taking it all the way in his mouth.

Yuri almost screamed because it was too damn much and, with his eyes screwing shut, he didn’t see Yuuri’s face as he spurted into his mouth, didn’t see him swallow once, again. He _felt_ him licking afterward, though, jerking his hips as if to escape because it was so, so much sensation when he was hypersensitive. It felt like he’d lost track of himself and he was damn _sure_ he’d shouted something in Russian and might be still mumbling indistinctly now.

A shadow fell over his face and he looked up though wet eyelashes as Yuuri kissed him.

Fingers teased at the base of his cock before sliding back, tracing his perineum toward his ass and—they were _wet_.

Yuri tensed, but he didn’t move his bound arms.

Yuuri had probably realised when he looked at him, but he could’ve moved them if he wanted to. He could have put them around Yuuri’s neck, he could’ve done anything, but he kept them over his head as though he’d been told to, willingly rendering himself helpless. Like now, he didn’t move, only opened his mouth to accept the tongue that slipped in, body going instinctively tight when Yuuri stroked a slick finger along his hole.

They’d done this before, it wasn’t brand new.

Yuri’s first time doing _this_ had been gentle, deliberate, Yuuri taking his time despite Yuri’s insistence that he should _hurry the fuck up_. He wasn’t delicate, he’d told him, but Yuuri had explained to him as he worked his fingers in and out of Yuri’s body that he didn’t want to hurt him, and the bastard had made him _come_ from that, whispering sweet words into his ear.

It was different this time.

Yuuri sucked hard at his tongue, he slid a finger in _deep_ , and Yuri bucked his body with a helpless, muffled moan. His cock was hard again, pressed and rubbing against the smooth fabric of Yuuri’s pants and he was still wearing his clothes and that wasn’t fucking _fair_.

“Take your clothes off,” Yuri broke the kiss to say and regretted it, because he moaned loudly as Yuuri’s finger shifted in him, as if to stir him up and remind him who was in charge. Yuuri didn’t answer nor make any indication he was about to listen and Yuri’s cheeks itched with heat as he pulled his lower lip between his teeth to chew on. “…Please.”

“Okay,” Yuuri murmured, leaning in to interrupt Yuri’s gnawing with a kiss to his lips. Then another, tongue lapping coaxingly over his lower one as his free hand fumbled. Yuri couldn’t see him opening up his clothes, but he felt cloth rubbing over his dick (he shivered, bucked) and then skin, warm hot skin and Yuuri pressing up against him properly. He was still wearing his shirt, the fabric cool against Yuri’s chest, but Yuuri’d taken care of the most important piece of clothing so Yuri didn’t care anymore.

Now he focused, trying to split his attention between fingers and the hips grinding into his, panting into Yuuri’s mouth over and over as one, two, three fingers moved in him, a faint and uncomfortable stretch turning into heat lit like a fuse at the base of his spine.

Not enough.

Yuri growled into Yuuri’s lips, pressing warningly at his exploring tongue with his teeth and Yuuri pulled back, dazed. His hair was mussed, mouth red and wet, and he breathed out a slow sigh when he took in Yuri’s face. “More?” he asked, even though he _knew_.

Swallowing back his impatience and frustration, thinking about what might get Yuuri to give him what he wanted sooner and remembering his bound wrists, he arched up into him. He kissed his cheek, rubbed his mouth just underneath his ear.

“Give it to me, Yuuri?” he mumbled. He still couldn’t turn it into a proper plea, but he thought it’d do.

 _More_ than do.

Yuuri pulled him, catching his wrists by the tie that bound them together and urging Yuri to sit up, loop those bound arms around his neck. Yuri balled both of his hands in the hair at the back of his head and stared at Yuuri, their noses brushing as Yuuri fit his body underneath him. Yuri was close enough to see the shadows his eyelashes cast on his cheekbones as Yuuri pressed hard and hot against him. Mustering a smirk, he ground his ass down against him and hoped he felt _goaded_.

“Yuri,” Yuuri half-laughed, half-sighed.

Yuri pulled him by the back of the head and kissed him as Yuuri aligned his dick and pressed in. It wasn’t unfamiliar, but it’d been a while and he arched forward, his chest rubbing against Yuuri’s, his nails biting into the back of his head as his teeth sunk into Yuuri’s lower lip, ripping a strangled half-moan from Yuuri.

Being spread on his back under Yuuri always made him feel painfully vulnerable, but like _this_ , Yuri could rock himself, could brace his feet and knees against the bed to either side of Yuuri’s lap and rise up in his lap just to sink back down, fucking himself on him. It was funny that Yuuri hadn’t turned him over on his stomach, but it eased the knot that being so vulnerable made him feel. Was that why Yuuri avoided his questions about being the one to be tied up? He was nervous about being this vulnerable?

How stupid. Yuri pulled back from his mouth, keeping firm hold of his hair to mumble: “I’m tying _you_ up next time. You’ll enjoy it.”

Yuuri looked back at him, panting, not stopping even though it looked like he was trying to think about the reasons why he couldn’t, _wouldn’t_. Yuri squeezed himself around Yuuri’s cock _just_ to interrupt it and got to watch his mouth fall open, his eyes nearly shutting in bliss. And then he nodded.

Triumphant, Yuri kissed him again and again. He didn’t have enough breath anymore to hold the kiss long, each contact a panting, wet press of mouths and tongues, teeth briefly clicking, before they parted again. Yuuri’s hair was damp and Yuri dragged it back from his face with still-bound hands, riding him as much as Yuuri was moving himself, until weight pressed fully against him and he went collapsing backward while Yuuri bore over him.

Yuri’s bound hands flopped back over his head and his fingers grasped at the bedpost as he swallowed hard—Yuuri had that dark look in his eyes, the one that always reminded Yuri about how much damn _stamina_ he had. Fingers gripped Yuri’s legs, pushing them up and all Yuri could do was hang onto the bedposts and scream, his head falling back, hair tangled around his face as Yuuri fucked him, each ramming thrust of his dick enough to make Yuri’s whole body shake, muscles bunched and wet fingers slipping on the post, the tie biting into the skin of his wrists.

God, he could get used to doing it like this, was the last thing Yuri thought before Yuuri wrapped his hand around his prick and dragged his thumb up the underside until he striped his own stomach and chest with come.

Curled up close together in the aftermath, Yuri privately enjoyed the way Yuuri fussed over his reddened wrists, kissed them and rubbed lotion into his skin.

“Next time it’s your turn,” Yuri reminded him as they shared a kiss.

“Go easy on me?”

“Like hell.”


	10. prelude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night of the New Year's party is more miserable than Yuuri honestly should have let it. That's what happens when you stew completely in jealousy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is basically what happened before that bondage chapter... JUST A SMALL THING but i've been stuck in a writing slump lately so i tidied this up and decided to post it anyway!!

Time tended to pass quickly, even when Yuuri’s time was no longer consumed by his practicing for the Grand Prix. He’d expected it to drag on, but with the preparations for the upcoming New Year’s party, he was kept busy, so busy he occasionally wished he had never thought to ask everyone to come for a New Years party at all.

Before he even knew it, his family’s inn was busy with guests—thankfully, all of the skaters weren’t staying there (there’s no way they would’ve had room), but Phichit, Yuri and Viktor were, at the very least. The others were staying at assorted inns or hotels in Saga or nearby towns that weren’t an excessively long train trip away.

The regulars who would come in to drink and watch television were absent tonight, tables laid out and covered with plates full of food. Forks were there too, naturally, because Yuuri’s family was merciful enough to foreigners that they didn’t expect them to learn how to use chopsticks right away. And Yuuri…

He was just watching the festivities. For the time being.

Rather, he was watching Yuri.

…Who wasn’t watching him.

No, Yuri wasn’t paying the barest bit of attention to him. Sharp and handsome in a red dress shirt, stark white tie and pressed black pants, his hair was haphazardly swept back—it’d gotten longer and he’d grown a little bit taller since the last time Yuri had seen him. At the moment, he was engaged in conversation with one (1) Otabek Altin, his face transformed into an easy smile, his eyes bright. Yuuri couldn’t hear them from here, but he didn’t really care to.

He wanted to drown further in self-loathing.

It shouldn’t be a big deal to just walk over and insinuate himself into the conversation if just seeing friends chatting was enough to make him this jealous… but only if the person wasn’t Katsuki Yuuri, whose anxiety levels had already surpassed maximum capacity. It was starting to rival the feeling he felt just before a big competition, the amount of pressure and (mild) misery. There was no way that he could cut into that conversation with the ease which he imagined. Dating or not, the fact that they _were_ dating was still not particularly spoken of. Not a _secret_ , but not broadcasted to everyone either.

His shoulders sagged and he forced himself to look away, scanning the room. Viktor was—

Gone!

Ahh, where was he when Yuuri needed him?! He’d been talking about slipping out to town, to a couple of his favourite places to drink during the party, but had he really left already?

Mhm, if Yuuri wound up crying alone in the bathroom by the end of the night, he was going to tell Viktor all about it. He was especially going to mention how he wished he had been here to at least talk to him while his boyfriend was forgetting that he existed. That was how dark his black mood was getting, and he sunk his head down lower and lower as he realised his own overreaction and his inability to do anything about it. His body sagged backward against the nearest wall, like his strength was draining straight out of him too.

He was the host and should be going around and talking, but he’d never been that good at that either.

…He wanted to talk to Yuri. Besides meeting him at the airport yesterday, they’d only had the evening to catch up, and half of that was dedicated to finishing up the party preparations, if not more. It hadn’t been enough time in the least. He’d never gotten to hear what he’d been doing since the last time they met. He wasn’t even going to be staying that long, busy with his practicing in Russia.

They texted and called each other, sure, but meeting each other face-to-face was a precious opportunity.

 _I want to monopolise him,_ Yuuri thought miserably, turning and stalking over to the table with the booze. Christophe Giacometti, standing there with a flute of champagne, tilted it in acknowledgement his way, smiling. Yuuri, moody and in no state of mind to talk, nodded stiffly in return—and accepted the flute he was passed with some surprise.

“You look like you need it, Yuuri,” he said with a glimmer in his eyes that Yuuri couldn’t say he liked too much. It seemed to hint that Chris knew more than he was saying and was it his imagination or not that Chris happened to glance Yuri’s way? Their relationship was secret, there’s no way that anyone should know about it, especially not about how Yuri was always coming to visit or Yuuri was visiting when he found a chance…

But, he didn’t want to even touch how he was feeling right now or if Chris _really_ knew. The topic seemed too daunting to handle. So instead he replied with a small “thanks” that hopefully gave nothing away and started drinking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "and then Yuuri went and tied up his bf and they had a great night, the end"


	11. growing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri hates the limitations that his body puts on him, especially growing pains. But if it means that Yuuri plans on massaging the pain out of his legs, then maybe it isn't as bad as he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> massages P: it doesn't turn explicit, somehow...

“Dammit,” snarling and cursing, Yuri curled himself in a tight ball underneath the covers of his bed. His body was a mass of throbbing, consistent pain, nowhere so much as in his legs. He gritted his teeth and peered out from underneath the blankets, toward the door of his bedroom that provided a peek at the main room of his apartment in St. Petersburg.

It was dead quiet apart from himself, the rustling of his sheets as he squirmed seeking a reprieve, and the occasional movement from his cat, curled up against the small of his back. That little body and occasional sleepy purr would normally soothe everything, but today it just hurt _too much_.

It was partially his fault, for pushing himself all the way through morning practice, but he refused to bend to the whims of his body or give up because he was getting taller. No way in hell. He wasn’t a slave to aches and pains!

…and he only regretted overworking himself a little. The smallest _little_.

He looked toward the main room again, sighing impatiently.

Then the sound of the front door clicking open, the familiar “I’m home” murmured in Japanese. Yuri knew the meaning and it made him happy to know (even at this moment) that Yuuri considered this place they shared his home too. He lifted himself up on his elbow, waiting, and Yuuri soon shuffled into the room, frowning when he saw Yuri half sitting up.

“You didn’t sleep at all?” he asked as he set the large bag he was carrying on the end of the bed. He tugged what he’d bought out of it while Yuri watched, rubbing his hands against his twinging thighs.

“I tried,” Yuri replied and snorted, jerking one shoulder. “I don’t really like napping, besides.”

He’d appreciate naps more when he was older, Yuuri thought as he unfolded the electric blanket he’d gone out to buy. Yuri _looked_ like he needed the sleep, dark circles under his eyes and complexion peaky. Yuuri wandered over to put in the plug and then thumbed the blanket on, folding it in half. That way when he urged Yuri to slip his legs free, it was a perfect size to fold around them.

The first bit of heat was _amazing_ , and Yuri groaned in relief, dropping back into the pillows, blond hair spread in a halo around his head. Once he had finished adjusting it, Yuuri leaned back and out of the way, propping himself up with his hands behind him.

“It’s good, right?” he asked brightly, and Yuri grumbled contentedly. He looked more relaxed than he had in days, since the practices at the rink had started taking their toll on his growing body and kept him up at nights. “I picked up some lotion, too, because there’re some massages you can do for growing pains…”

He trailed off, not mentioning that he’d specifically searched for help and remedies for children’s growing pains. Yuri didn’t need to know what kind of terminology he used.

Speaking of, he hadn’t said anything about the massage. Yuuri turned his head, saw Yuri’s eyes were closed and his breathing had slowed. A bit of heat around his sore legs and he was down for the count? Intending to leave him to nap, Yuuri pushed carefully to his feet, but Yuri’s head jerked and he looked after him, eyes glazed with confusion.

“What were you saying, Yuuri?” he muttered groggily.

“I picked up some lotion, in the case you want to try a massage.” It was hard going not to smile fondly—Yuri was cute when he was sleepy, and all the more when he was visibly fighting it. His eyelids would sag and then he’d jerk his head, forcing his eyes back open with a hard blink.

“Massage.” It was slowly getting through to him. Yuri looked down at his blanket-wrapped legs. “…Fine, go ahead.”

_Hm? ‘Go ahead’?_

“You— Oh.”

Yuri thought he’d been offering to massage him? A long minute passed where Yuri waited for him and then… realisation hit. His eyes widened and his mouth fell open for half a second before he shut it with a snap, red creeping over his cheeks. He lashed his hand down, finding the rest of the blankets crumpled together at his feet and moving to yank them up over him. Only lunging and catching his wrist with a hand actually prevented Yuri from doing it.

“I’ll do it! I want to!”

At the very least, he didn’t want to be the cause of Yuri’s mood going bad—and honestly, wouldn’t it be better if he was the one to do it? Yuuri squeezed Yuri’s wrist, hoping he saw the sincerity and not the sense of embarrassment _he_ felt at the thought of it. Yuri glared up at him, face red from his own mistake, but slowly he loosened his grip on the blankets.

“Should’ve just said that from the start,” he muttered but, tone thawing, he added: “…Thanks.”

He really must not be feeling good, Yuuri thought.

It took a few minutes but, with some coaxing, Yuri settled on his stomach sans pants (just boxers) with a pillow propped under his hips. He’d folded his arms and propped his chin on them, gazing straight ahead (red-faced) at the headboard as Yuuri urged him to rest his lower legs across his lap. The first touch of his warm, dry hands made him fidget, but Yuuri was just rubbing, dragging his palms up the back of his thighs and back down. It was a struggle not to think of anything _else_ when they were like this, but at least the pains in his legs were a constant reminder that no, Yuuri was probably _not_ about to start feeling him up inappropriately.

He jumped when hands came back slick and _cold_ and Yuuri murmured a few low apologies as he worked his hands up and down. Yuri clenched his jaw, the first sharp twinge coming when Yuuri pressed his fingers into the back of his thigh.

“If it’s too much, tell me?” Yuuri’s anxious voice fell down from over him, and Yuri knew that he was watching the back of Yuri’s head.

Yuri nodded stiffly and closed his eyes. Just that little prickle was nothing, he could stand more than that. But, the more Yuuri touched… the easier it got. Yuri’s shoulders relaxed, his head sinking down into the cradle of his arms when Yuuri stroked his thumbs into his tight calf muscles, working them in gentle, constant circles. It still hurt, but it was pleasant now, and the more Yuuri did it the more he forgot that he wasn’t just doing it to make him feel good but to get rid of the pain in his legs.

“Are you falling asleep, Yuri?” Yuuri’s voice again, not anxious this time but _sotto voce_ , as if to keep from waking him up. Yuri grunted in answer and he _felt_ the way Yuuri smiled, by the sound he exhaled—it was like a laugh, and both of his hands squeezed Yuri’s ankles. “… Okay. Well, I’m almost done, so you should sleep after that.”

Yuri grunted again, his sleepy mind swimming through idle thoughts. Though the way of touching wasn’t sexual other than the location, he wanted to shift around and get in Yuuri’s lap and kiss the life out of him. Stick his hands up his shirt, test out if his legs could last him long enough to actually _get_ somewhere. It was probably because Yuuri’s thumbs pressed high on his thighs, so close to his butt it wasn’t fair.

And then there were thoughts that told him that he _didn’t_ want to do that (as Yuuri moved his hands back down toward his feet), he wanted to keep laying here and drift off into sleep with Yuuri touching him. It was a pleasant war of the mind, at least, and it was while he was in this haze that Yuuri finished.

Rolling onto his side, legs still in Yuuri’s lap, he looked up at him. “I’ll sleep if you sleep with me,” he said.

He’d meant for it to sound like a demand but it ended up ringing like a request. And hey, it worked out because Yuuri blinked in surprise, smiled, and nodded.

Yuuri was warm to press his body back against, and he’d spread the electric blanket to wrap them both as he slid underneath the covers with Yuri. If he’d just stayed here and not gone out to get what he did, Yuri thought, he would’ve forgotten entirely about his leg pain. But this had been nice too, and maybe he could wrangle up some excuse after a practice to return the favour—but less innocently. Smirking, he stroked his cat when she curled up at his stomach, touching Yuuri’s fingers where his hand cradled just under his navel.

Yuuri’s breath puffed against the back of his head, and he wasn’t _asleep_ yet but that was good too, it just meant he held tighter when Yuri nudged himself back into his body.

He finally felt free of those growing pains and finally knew just the way to do it—if it was temporary, then all the better. He could ask Yuuri to do it again whenever.

Only at a time like this did he think that being younger than Yuuri wasn’t that bad.


	12. sleepless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri finds out that, without Yuuri curled up with him, he has much less restful nights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> long time no see my friends, i hope you're all doing well!! i never lose my love of yuris, my ability to write just tends to disappear for months sometimes...

Before Yuuri had come into his life, he was _used_ to sleeping alone.

He wasn’t _alone_ even, he had his cat. He could happily doze off with her purring, nestled into the small of his back. However, there was no good explanation as to why he couldn’t sleep _now_ , curled up in bed by himself like he’d slept a thousand times before. Yuri blinked sore eyes irritably, looking at the wall through the dark, tracing a small crack in it that he compared to Victor’s hairline.

He sighed.

_It was all Yuuri’s fault._

They’d spent the last, well, several weeks (and longer) curled up in bed together. That didn’t even always have to follow after the two of them doing anything with each other. Even though there was a guest space specifically for Yuuri, somehow through joined fingers and significant glances courtesy, more often than not it was Yuuri slept pressed close against Yuri’s back, wrapping him in warmth.

Now he was gone back home for a little bit to visit with everyone, leaving Yuri cold and sleepless.

Arching his body, he groped blindly for his phone on the table. He winced when the screen came on, squinting against the artificial light as he flicked his thumb against it. He’d undoubtedly get told off for coming in for practice with dark circles under his eyes, but he couldn’t help it that he couldn’t sleep. Again, it was all Yuuri’s fault. He was sticking to that.

Yuri sighed at the empty message screen. Well, of course Yuuri wouldn’t have texted him. If he had any brains, he’d have fallen into bed the minute he got off of his flight and would _hopefully_ be sleeping well through the morning. That was the rational, grown-up thing to want your lover to do. Even though he told himself that, it didn’t work when all he _really_ wanted was for Yuuri to show up silhouetted in the bedroom door and slide into bed with him.

He pressed the cool metal of the phone to his forehead and frowned at the ceiling.

Then he heard a soft click.

Lowering his phone quickly, he groaned at the _fghgldhf_ that was a _pretty shitty follow-up_ to his last message to Yuuri telling him he better bring Yuri something when he came back to St Petersburg.

_Are you awake?_

The message blipped onto the screen and Yuri fumbled his phone, gaping in surprise. But, sure enough, there it was.

 _What the hell are you doing up?_ he texted, fingers moving quickly.

 _I couldn’t sleep when I got home. What about Yurio? Isn’t it almost midnight there?_ Yuuri replied. And then, cheeky person that he was, _Or did you text me while you were half-asleep?_

 _Like I would. It was my cat_. That was a brazen-faced lie, but there was no way that Yuuri could see through it. Probably. _You should go to sleep._

_In a little while. The time change is messing me up._

There were a good several hours between Japan and Russia, one of the things that made keeping in touch with Yuuri so frustrating whenever he went home. Not that Yuuri ever let it stop him—after the initial couple of months where he was insecure about how much texting Yuri would tolerate, Yuri made sure to drill it into his head that _he’d better keep in touch all the time_.

Yuuri had been good about it ever since. But it’d been a while (it felt) since they were back to this. That must be why Yuri felt so relieved seeing his texts, though they’d been apart less than a day.

Yuri rolled over onto his stomach and propped his cheek up with one hand, texting with the other. _How long’s a little while?_

 _Until I get sleepy, I guess!_ Yuri could imagine Yuuri smiling and his throat tightened in longing. _When are_ you _going to sleep?_

 _When I’m tired,_ he fired back, faint smile lit by the cellphone’s glow.

_Want to talk on the phone for a bit?_

Yuri couldn’t punch in _duh_ fast enough.

Hearing Yuuri’s voice murmuring against his ear wasn’t the same as having him to wrap around or sprawl over but it’d do until he was back here. Back where he was _supposed_ to be.


	13. nightdress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri looked back over his shoulder with a challenging smile as the thin, filmy material of the nightdress fluttered down over his back to barely hide him. It fit him too well, moulded to his figure, beautiful on him because Yuri was beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello my darlings, have some fantasy crossdressing to ring in your 2018
> 
> this chapter is EXPLICIT. hella

When he’s alone, Yuuri’s mind always wanders.

During the skating season, he’s replaying performances in his head. He’s remembering the performances of the other skaters and he’s wondering over where he ought to improve. In the down season, it’s more general, and has changed ever since his skating world expanded. And, since Yurio entered his life.

So at night when one half of his bed is cool, he’s thinking of St. Petersburg, of the cozy apartment that he shares with Yuri, about a bed that’s slightly too small for two people so they have to cuddle in close to each other. There’s never a moment when the two of them are chilled in the winter when they have each other to nestle against.

It’s innocuous.

But not for long. How does he remember being in bed with Yuri without remembering the things the two of them have done in that bed?

He remembers Yuri’s toes sliding up along Yuuri’s calf, hiking up his pyjama pants and the almost-pain of his blunt toenails digging into the back of his leg. The press of Yuri’s slender body, the way he lifts his face until the tip of his nose grazes along Yuuri’s neck. The way his pink lips part and how he watches Yuuri with half-mast, sleepy eyes.

The memories grow hotter still—

Yuri above him, his ass slapping loud against Yuuri’s hips as he rides him, his blond hair damp with sweat, bangs shaking every time he lowers down. How it makes his arms tremble from the effort but oh, Yuri is stubborn.

Yuuri breathes out, imagines his breath misting in the cold bedroom for how warm he feels right now. His eyes flicker open but promptly shut, denying the bedroom of his childhood home. He’s in St. Petersburg. Yuri is curled up against his back, his knees tucked into the back of Yuuri’s legs. An arm holds him around the middle but something feels different from usual.

Slowly, Yuuri allows himself to foray into territory he’s never let himself imagine. Oh, there were one or two occasions, but he’s kept _this_ particular fantasy hidden.

Yuri’s feet are bare and his legs all the way up to his knees. He put _that_ on before bed and Yuri made sure that Yuuri watched every moment. He looked back over his shoulder with a challenging smile as the thin, filmy material of the nightdress fluttered down over his back to _barely_ hide him. The frothy end grazed just below his ass and hiked up when he walked. He slid his thumb just under one of the straps, playing with it, enough to expose a peek at a nipple as he grinned devilishly. It fit him too well, moulded to his figure,  _beautiful_ on him because Yuri was  _beautiful_.

He wants to imagine that the nightdress is pink—but the part of him that _knows_ replaces it with a rich orange, shades darker than Yuri’s skin.

Yuuri’s lips twitch and he almost laughs as he almost imagines tiger stripes but he forces himself to keep going, imagine instead Yuri lifting up, looking down at Yuuri after he’s teased him by pushing in so close against his back. He’s kept him waiting, letting the warmth build under blankets. Yuri’s leg slides over his hip, his cock only held back by _panties_ the same colour as his nightdress. They leave nothing to his imagination and let him feel Yuri as he straddles Yuuri’s side and thrusts against the side of his leg.

Not long. Just enough to tease him.

Yuri likes riling him up like this.

“What?” he says with a haughty grin. “You impatient?”

He sits in front of Yuuri and snaps his fingers to arrest his movement when Yuuri goes to sit up. No, Yuri’s the boss, and he makes Yuuri wait, makes Yuuri strip off his clothing.

“’Least you could do, since I dressed up like this for you.”

He can only touch when Yuri lets him, one of his hands sliding up the end of his nightdress, the fabric hitching upward slowly to reveal the shape of his cock, pulling against the panties, stretching them from his hips. He lets Yuuri wrap his hand around himself and he watches triumphantly, his thighs parted so that Yuuri can stare at him while he jerks off, mouth dry with want. He wants to suck him into his mouth with the panties still there, positively soak them through.

Yuri doesn’t let him.

“You might rip them. Don’t you want me to do this again in _this_?” he asks as he pushes Yuuri down on his stomach.

“I do, please,” Yuuri’s voice whispers out of him and he hears Yuri chuckle, his weight on his back. He pushes his hips against the bed, helpless and wanting. Sometimes he just wants to be dominated and controlled. He wants for Yuri to give it to him, he wants to be under him and let him do anything and everything he could imagine.

His fingers slide in easy and he murmurs in Yuuri’s ear “don’t stop moving your hand”. So Yuuri listens and he moans and he can count every finger inside of him. By the time he hears the elastic snap of the panties, he’s shaking. Close to the edge.

So close, so when Yuri pushes in, his hands sinking into the mattress to either side of his head, cotton fabric tickling Yuuri’s ass—

He tightens his hand around himself and comes into his hand, gasping.

His eyes snap open chasing his fantasy and he sees his room but it’s unfamiliar. In the too-dim and too-dark room he sits up slowly, creakily getting tissues from the bedside table. He gazes vaguely toward the opposite wall, shivering when Yuri’s phantom voice and his feminine clothes seem like they touch his elbow.

Yuuri shakily smiles in the dark and rubs the back of his hand against his flushed cheek. Would Yuri actually be interested in trying that one day? He doesn’t know, but sometimes he’s tempted to ask.

…In the end, he’s too hot to sleep and spends a half hour sitting at his window before he can drift off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this drabble reveals a little too much bout my interests tbh


	14. wrench

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Watching Yuuri's leg fold under him, the startled and dismayed look on his face as he crashes to the ice, is one of the worst experiences of Yuri's life. Minor injury or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my fav mobile game is in the middle of a crossover with YOI which means i get victor, yuuri and yurio in my game... #blessed
> 
> so ofc have a mildly hurt and comfort short

“It’s fine. I’m fine,” Yuuri says in a strained voice.

_Like hell you are!_ Yuri thinks in turn as he helps Yuuri off of the ice, his jaw set. He’s ginger as he walks, even more when he removes his skate and winces at the swelling shape of his ankle. “I’m going to get someone,” Yuri says stubbornly, pushing himself up.

“Yurio—Yuri, wait, it’s just a strain. I’m really fine.”

It’s hard to say that he believes that, not when Yuuri looks so damned pale. But, skaters _do_ tend to know their own bodies, know when something is wrong versus when something is simply wrenched. Glowering, he stays standing, waiting for—for _something_. What does he do? Wait, fuck, of course! He’s wasting time!

“I’m gonna go get some ice, then. You don’t move. Not a damn step, got it?”

Yuuri’s face is too amused for someone who’s pale and peaky, but he doesn’t stop Yuri when he hustles off.

They’d slipped out this evening when no-one else was around, intending to have some private practice on the ice. By private, that meant time when they could skate and flirt at the same time. However, Yuri didn’t expect Yuuri’s leg to crumble under him as he landed a jump, could still feel his stomach wrench in a sense of horror and fear as he saw Yuuri’s surprised face the second before he hit the ice. And then, when he didn’t immediately stand, when he _hissed_ as he put weight on his ankle.

He clenches his hands tightly at his sides.

He tries not to think of things he never really thinks of. As skaters, they know that injury is a potential in every day of their lives. Any day they could break a leg or an arm, they could get a fracture they’d never be able to recover from. Yuri doesn’t think about it because he’s strong and he’s confident and he won’t let _anything_ ever stop him, not even an injury, but if he thinks about Yuuri getting an injury… about not seeing him skate…

There it is again. That gut-clenching and heart-squeezing feeling.

He stops in the hall, gripping tightly at his shirt over his heart, his teeth grinding together. He breathes in deep, lets it out through his teeth in a hiss. What is he afraid of, anyway? It’s not like Yuuri will suddenly _vanish_ if he can’t skate. But he knows, he loves his skating, he loves watching him when he’s zoned out and just making circles around the rink, he loves watching him when he’s focused, when he’s gotten so deeply into his routine that he’s acting out it all. He loves seeing Yuuri so _happy_ when he skates.

His hands flex again and Yuri shakes his head hard, scattering blond hair left and right. He storms into the small kitchenette in the rink, fetching an ice pack from the freezer before he makes his way back. Yuuri is leaning backwards in his chair, gazing forward, spacing out.

“Here.”

Yuuri startles—idiot, he knew Yuri was coming back! Yuri huffs as he kneels in front of him and takes the swollen ankle in hand, wrapping it with the ice pack. Yuuri winces at first but then he sighs in relief.

“Thanks, Yuri.”

“Mm.” Yuri grunts, shrugging dismissively. He stares petulantly at Yuuri’s stomach and then he edges forward on his knees, leans his body forward until he buries his face in that stomach. A little soft because Yuuri’s been negligent the last week, what with the festival Maslenitsa and food accessible at every turn. But, it’s nice and Yuri rubs his face right in with a sigh, shoulders slumping.

“You’re acting like you hurt your ankle, not me,” Yuuri says over his head. “Are _you_ okay?”

“Shut up. I’m fine.” Yuri tightens his arms around his waist. “Don’t miss your jump again, _stupid_. That was a stupid mistake.”

“I was distracted watching Yuri,” Yuuri mutters petulantly, more to the air than to Yuri himself.

But, the hands that stroke over Yuri’s back, tousling his hair playfully and affectionately, do make him feel worlds better. It’s fine. It’ll all be fine.

In a mere two days, even, Yuuri will be teasing him for how worried he was and Yuri will have to yell that he _wasn’t_.


End file.
